Remember that time ...
Last week after work I went over to the Art Institute for a reading by Michael Ondaatje, of The English Patient fame. Through my librarian connections, I had gotten ahold of his new book, Divisadero, which was wonderful. I've also had a bit of a crush on him since I saw him read at Iowa when I was an undergrad (he's from Sri Lanka and has this great accent). So as you can imagine, I had been eagerly anticipating the reading from the moment I saw the announcement in the newspaper; embarrassingly enough, I had butterflies in my stomach the whole afternoon beforehand.
And he didn't disappoint; I honestly got chills when he started reading. He read three or four different excerpts from the book and provided little bits of explanation and commentary throughout, and when it came time for questions, he was interesting and funny and forthright. If only he'd been a solo act, it would have been a great night.
This reading was billed as just that, but some of the ones I've been to, like the one Joyce Carol Oates gave a few weeks ago at Printer's Row, are advertised as "a conversation with" the author. In the case of the Oates one, the conversant, the editor of the Chicago Tribune, asked intelligent questions and brought up a lot of interesting points that I doubt the audience would have thought to ask about.
The Ondaatje reading got off to a rocky start when a woman from the Art Institute provided a rambling and, frankly, bizarre introduction of the author. But then he came up and read (for a good 30-40 minutes) and was so awesome I forgot all about her. If that had been the end of the night, I would have gone home happy. Instead, she returned for the "conversation" part--and ruined the whole evening. I've never seen anything like it.
You know the Chris Farley character who interviews famous people but doesn't ask any questions; instead, he keeps saying things like "Remember when you were in that movie? That was awesome!" That was our conversant, except her word was "amazing." She'd obviously read the book, and all his books, cover to cover and over and over. But she somehow failed to grasp the whole the question-and-answer concept. Instead, she kept launching into lengthy descriptions of scenes from the book, and then saying they were amazing and trailing off into silence. Sometimes he'd pick up the thread and attempt to say something about the significance of the scene or the process of writing it. Sometimes she'd bluntly say, "So, do you want to read that?" and then he'd have to flip through the book trying to find the passage in question. It was physically painful to listen to; I had to keep covering my face with my hands.
This went on and on; the reading started at 6, and finally at some point after 7, Ondaatje gave up and said, "Should we take some questions from the audience?" Thank god she agreed, and there were actually several interesting questions, in question format and everything. They were winding down when she suddenly blurted out "We have to wrap up!" Of course, then she asked him point-blank for some kind of grand summary statement, brought up a few more random passages from the book, and then asked him to read one. He declined and read something different instead. It was fully 7:30 by the time the whole thing ended.
There was a signing afterward, but at that point I was mentally exhausted. I don't know what I would have said to him after that debacle anyway. Hopefully when it comes time to tour for his next book, he'll forgive the people of Chicago and come back. God willing, someone else will introduce him.
And he didn't disappoint; I honestly got chills when he started reading. He read three or four different excerpts from the book and provided little bits of explanation and commentary throughout, and when it came time for questions, he was interesting and funny and forthright. If only he'd been a solo act, it would have been a great night.
This reading was billed as just that, but some of the ones I've been to, like the one Joyce Carol Oates gave a few weeks ago at Printer's Row, are advertised as "a conversation with" the author. In the case of the Oates one, the conversant, the editor of the Chicago Tribune, asked intelligent questions and brought up a lot of interesting points that I doubt the audience would have thought to ask about.
The Ondaatje reading got off to a rocky start when a woman from the Art Institute provided a rambling and, frankly, bizarre introduction of the author. But then he came up and read (for a good 30-40 minutes) and was so awesome I forgot all about her. If that had been the end of the night, I would have gone home happy. Instead, she returned for the "conversation" part--and ruined the whole evening. I've never seen anything like it.
You know the Chris Farley character who interviews famous people but doesn't ask any questions; instead, he keeps saying things like "Remember when you were in that movie? That was awesome!" That was our conversant, except her word was "amazing." She'd obviously read the book, and all his books, cover to cover and over and over. But she somehow failed to grasp the whole the question-and-answer concept. Instead, she kept launching into lengthy descriptions of scenes from the book, and then saying they were amazing and trailing off into silence. Sometimes he'd pick up the thread and attempt to say something about the significance of the scene or the process of writing it. Sometimes she'd bluntly say, "So, do you want to read that?" and then he'd have to flip through the book trying to find the passage in question. It was physically painful to listen to; I had to keep covering my face with my hands.
This went on and on; the reading started at 6, and finally at some point after 7, Ondaatje gave up and said, "Should we take some questions from the audience?" Thank god she agreed, and there were actually several interesting questions, in question format and everything. They were winding down when she suddenly blurted out "We have to wrap up!" Of course, then she asked him point-blank for some kind of grand summary statement, brought up a few more random passages from the book, and then asked him to read one. He declined and read something different instead. It was fully 7:30 by the time the whole thing ended.
There was a signing afterward, but at that point I was mentally exhausted. I don't know what I would have said to him after that debacle anyway. Hopefully when it comes time to tour for his next book, he'll forgive the people of Chicago and come back. God willing, someone else will introduce him.
posted by Madame Defarge at 5:02 PM
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